


cut to the chase (cut through the clouds)

by rowenabane



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Domestic, Dragons, Fluff, Inspired by How to Train Your Dragon, Light-Hearted, M/M, Unconventional Families, don't mind me watering the kunil tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenabane/pseuds/rowenabane
Summary: Sometimes, a family can be the town physician, his two sons, and the mysterious carpenter that lives by the sea.(Oh, and dragons. Sometimes, a family can have dragons, too.)
Relationships: Moon Taeil/Qian Kun
Comments: 15
Kudos: 88





	cut to the chase (cut through the clouds)

**Author's Note:**

> for anon mars and the #KunilFicExchange2k21!! 
> 
> hello, mars! this was a challenge for me to write since I know next to nothing about how to train your dragon, but it was really fun to write, and I hope you enjoy it!!! thank you!!

The two-headed dragon in Taeil’s front yard refuses to stop chewing on his basil, which wouldn’t be so bad if the thing did not have the blessed immunity of being the family pet.

Taeil gently pushes one of the dragon’s heads out of the way, its mottled green scales almost the same shade as the basil. The other head nips at him as he picks herbs from the garden, playful. Two sets of eyes watch his every move, bright yellow, and the dragon’s split tail thumps against the ground in a steady, even rhythm.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Taeil says, pushing the dragon’s head away again. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

The dragon huffs in complaint, turning its twin heads away. It wanders over to somewhere out of view on the other side of the house, tail flicking through the grass. Taeil sighs.

It’s a lovely day in the small cliff village he calls home—the sky beams bright blue, and the wind has settled to a slight breeze instead of the dull roar it usually is. The field surrounding his house is beginning to go green again after the cold winter, grass stretching high to the sky. The village sheep are making their rounds through the grass. They, too, are eyeing his basil.

“Dad!”

Taeil looks up to see Chenle hanging halfway out of the second floor window, hair hanging over his eyes. He waves one gangly teenage arm, pointing in the distance. The dragon has made its way onto the roof, cautiously sniffing at Chenle’s hair.

Taeil shields his eyes from the sun with his palm. “What is it?”

“Kun’s here!” Chenle yells gleefully.

Taeil looks over to where Chenle is pointing and sure enough, a lone figure is making its way down the road. Taeil grabs a few more basil leaves and straightens. The rest of the garden will have to wait.

…

Kun looks at the charred and cracked table in the dining room with a faint air of disappointment, hands on his hips. “How did this even happen?”

Taeil shrugs. “Yangyang and Chenle won’t tell me, but I’m fairly sure it involved Whiplash.”

The twin-headed dragon in question sticks its head through the window at the sound of its name. 

“Well,” Kun says, sticking a finger into the inch long crack separating one half of the table from the other. “At least the legs are still intact.”

Taeil does not remember a time before he and Kun lived in this village. They were too young for the Dragon War, and by the time they were the war had long since ended. There was no more need for warriors, but people who could build and heal are always in high demand. 

“I can replace the top,” Kun says. “It should only take a week or so.”

“I’m sorry this keeps happening,” Taeil says, glaring at the two curious faces peering around the staircase. “ _Some people_ don’t know how to follow household rules.”

Kun smiles easily and waves his hand. “It’s always good to know that someone needs me,” he says. “I’ll have to take the table, though, to fix it.”

“Of course,” Taeil says. He remembers something and pulls a small ointment jar out of the cabinet. “Take this, too. For your hands.”

Kun does, their fingers brushing over the glass. “What would I do without you?”

“Not much, I imagine.” 

Kun carts their broken table down the road, and once he is gone Taeil turns to Yangyang and Chenle. They’re snickering, eyes glimmering with teenage mischief.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Taeil says. “Next time, I’ll have him take you two away instead of the table.”

They scramble up the stairs and Taeil surveys the blank spot in his dining room. Well. Picnics are always nice this time of year.

…

It often seems that Kun is the only person in the entire village that doesn’t have a dragon.

Its strange—dragons practically swarm over the cliffs, generations of them living with families. Taeil had found Whiplash in the fields when it was just a baby, not long after he had adopted Chenle and Yangyang. At the time it had been a nuisance to have so many people in such a small house, but for all Whiplash’s damage the two headed dragon still holds a small part in his heart that simply cannot be replaced.

Kun, however, lives alone. He always has.

Taeil had tried to convince him, once. A dragon could help him carry things down the cliffs. It could help keep him warm in the winter. Kun had simply smiled and waved his hand.

 _I work with too much wood to be living with something that breathes fire,_ he had said.

...

Kun brings back the table a week later, just as he had promised. Taeil gives him another jar of ointment for his chapped skin and is mildly surprised to see a long, deep cut on the back of his hand.

“It’s nothing,” Kun says, but Taeil shakes his head and pushes him into a seat. 

“Cuts like that can get infected very easily if you don’t treat them,” Taeil explains, searching through the cupboards for an extra roll of bandages. He was sure he had more last week, but after Yangyang took a tumble down the stairs a few days ago things have been in short supply. He finally finds what he’s looking for, nestled behind a jar of dried rose hips.

“How are the boys?” Kun asks politely as Taeil sits across from him. 

“Just as much of a pain as they always are,” Taeil says, coating the wound with a thick coat of medicine. “I’m teaching Chenle how to weave cloth. He’s quite good at it when he’s not distracted.”

Kun winces as Taeil presses the bandage to his hand.”And Yangyang?”

“Fell down the stairs. Sometimes I can’t believe he’s the oldest.”

Kun is silent as Taeil wraps his hand. “I could always use a hand around the workshop if he’s interested.”

“I’ll ask him as soon as he’s stopped pretending every bone in his body is broken,” Taeil says, tying the bandage. “Is this too tight?”

Kun exhales slowly. “No, it’s fine.” He looks up at Taeil, lips parted. “Thank you.”

“Be more careful next time,” Taeil says. Kun smiles.

“I’ll try my best.”

…

“Dad, you’re an idiot.”

Taeil looks up from his steaming pot to glare at Yangyang, who is limping through the kitchen. “Why would you say that?”

Yangyang scratches at the bandage over his forehead. There’s a bruise on his cheek, already fading. “You know why.”

Taeil looks out the window at Kun, who is already disappearing down the road. No. He doesn’t know why.

…

Yangyang’s cuts and bruises heal and Taeil sends him down to help Kun. He comes back every night with some small hand-carved thing—a bird, a tiny sheep, something vaguely resembling Whiplash’s twin tails. His creations are proudly displayed on every available surface in the house, alongside various drying herbs and roots.

“Yangyang gets to do cool things,” Chenle groans at dinner one night. “I get to sit here and _weave_.”

“It’s a good skill to have. Eat your soup.”

“Kun seemed kinda sick today,” Yangyang says. “I think he has a cold.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Yangyang continues. He levels Taeil with a stare. “Are you going to go see him?”

“We’ll see,” Taeil says. “Eat.”

…

There is a point on the cliffs where, if you look at just the right angle, you can see the entire village laid out like an arrow towards the sea. The wooden houses line the slope at just the right angle that one can almost imagine tipping them over like dominoes, each one sliding into its neighbor and eventually into the sea.

There is one house, however, that does not fit into this pattern. It sits right at the shore, removed from all its neighbors. This house, tiny and dark, is Kun’s.

It’s not that Kun doesn’t like people, Taeil muses as he climbs down the cliffs with a basket clutched in his hand. He’s in town every day, smiling and friendly. He has been to his tiny home several times to bandage his hands and pull out splinters and found it just as warm and bright as its owner. 

It’s colder next to the sea. Taeil never asked why Kun chose to live here, so close to the treacherous waves.

Taeil knocks on the ornately carved door. It swings open and Kun smiles at him, face flushed. He sniffles.

“I heard you weren’t feeling well,” Taeil says, handing him the basket. “I made you some soup, and brought you medicine.”

Kun’s eyes go soft. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “Would you like to come in?”

Taeil shifts his weight from foot to foot, suddenly nervous. “Just for a little bit, I guess.”

Kun beams at him.

Kun’s home is simple but love seeps out of every corner, every worn and handmade thing bleeding a sense of security and warmth. The table has rounded corners and is covered with a fine layer of sawdust that Kun wipes away before he sets the basket on the table. A fire crackles in the small fireplace, giving the wooden walls a golden gleam. 

“Who told you I was sick?” Kun says, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. 

“Yangyang. He said you weren’t feeling well when he was here.” 

Kun sighs. “It's this time of year, I suppose. Cold.”

“It's warmer near the center of the village,” Taeil says. “I have an extra room. You can stay there until the season passes.”

Kun smiles but shakes his head. “Thank you for the offer,” he says. “But all my tools are here, and I’m sure you don’t want a woodworker banging on your walls all the time.”

 _I wouldn’t mind,_ Taeil thinks as he watches Kun pull out the small jar of herbs and tea he had packed. _I really wouldn’t mind at all._

What he says, however, is this: “The boys keep me up half the night, anyway. One more person wouldn’t make that much of a difference.”

Kun laughs lightly. “Thank you,” he says again. “But I’ll be fine here.”

Taeil shrugs.

When he leaves later, he turns to watch the sea crash over the rocks. It’s almost frightening to be this close to the waves and Taeil looks up at the cliffs, his own house somewhere high in the sky. 

When the boys were young he would tell them fairytales of dragons the size of the sea, warriors in armor with swords that could cut the sky. He always told them that if they made a wish and counted the stars, each and every one, it would come true. He never truly believed it, of course—it was something to help them sleep, a charming little tale. 

Walking back to his house alone, he makes a wish and begins to count.

…

After a couple of weeks Kun’s sickness lifts and he turns up at Taeil’s door, beaming, three bundles tucked under his arm.

“I’m feeling much better, thanks to you,” he says, dropping the bundles on the table. “Where are the boys?”

“Chenle’s upstairs,” Taeil starts, drying his hands. They’re stained blue and red from flower dye. “Yangyang’s feeding the sheep. What’s all this?”

At this point Chenle is already downstairs, attracted by all the commotion. His eyes light up when he sees Kun.

“Here,” Kun says, handing him a long package wrapped in cloth. “I coated it so it won’t burn to ashes like your last one.”

Chenle’s face lights up as he takes the package and unwraps it to reveal a long wooden sword, painted and carved with all the intricacy of a real weapon. Along the blade is a carving of a dragon with two heads, it’s tail coiling into the hilt. The edges are dulled but that doesn’t seem to matter to Chenle, who immediately swings it towards Taeil, grinning. It's the newest in a long line of practice swords, several of which bear telltale burns

“Be careful,” Kun says, smiling. “It’s heavy. Make sure you don’t hurt anyone.”

Chenle’s eyes glitter. “Thank you!” he says, wrapping his arms around Kun’s neck. “I love it!”

Taeil watches as Kun closes his eyes and squeezes Chenle back. It’s strange how fast children grow. 

Chenle lets go and dashes out the door yelling for Yangyang, leaving the two of them staring at each other in the half silence.

“This is for you,” Kun says, handing Taeil something wrapped in fabric. “Here.”

Taeil takes the gift with trembling hands, the burlap rough beneath his palms. “Why the gifts, Kun? It's not a holiday.”

“A thank you for the soup,” Kun says, waving his hand. “Go ahead, open it.”

“You don’t have to thank me for doing my job,” Taeil scoffs. Nestled in the fabric is four wooden bowls, sitting in each other. Each one is perfectly round and smooth, and Taeil can only stare, rubbing a finger over the rounded lip of the first bowl. 

“Your bowl was cracked down the side,” Kun says calmly. “I figured you might need new ones.”

Outside, Taeil can hear shouting and the pound of wood against wood. Laughter. His hands shake as he puts the bowls on the table.

“Kun, I—”

Kun waves his hand again. “I hope you like them. I can’t stay to see Yangyang open his, but tell him I hope he enjoys it.”

“I do, I will, but Kun—”

“I’ll see you around, then!” Kun slides on his coat. “Have a wonderful day!”

He practically runs out of the door, leaving Taeil sitting at the table with four bowls and his own heart pouring out of his chest. 

…

Yangyang’s gift, wrapped in burlap, is a set of tools. The metal is shiny and sharp and the handles are all delicately sanded and sealed, just the right size and shape for his hands.

Yangyang holds up a small chisel, eyes practically glowing. “I can’t believe I missed him! Do you think I could make _him_ something?.”

Taeil smiles. Three bowls are laid out at the table, the fourth hidden in the cabinet like a secret.

“Of course,” he says, unsure why the thought of Kun makes him feel so unsteady. “Of course you can.”

…

The thing about dragons is that as soon as you think you know them they turn around and burn half your property. Taeil curses silently. It’s what one gets for living in a wooden house, he supposes. 

“ _Chenle!_ ” Taeil yells. “ _Yangyang!_ ”

There’s some muffled shouting from upstairs followed by a crash and more yelling. Chenle appears in the doorway with Yangyang close behind, both of their faces streaked with ash.

Taeil crosses his arms. “Hello. Is someone going to tell me why the wall is smoldering?”

The two of them exchange a Look that Taeil knows well. He glances at the large black spot on the wall, almost tall as he is and twice as wide. The herbs he had hung to dry are _definitely_ dry now, charred to nothingness, the small shelf beneath nonexistent. He had only been at the market for maybe an hour, not even that.

No one says a thing.

Taeil raises an eyebrow. “So none of you had anything to do with this?”

Yangyang wipes at the ash on his face. Chenle is staring at something incredibly interesting in the distance. Taeil can see Whiplash through the window, looking shamefully at the ground.

“I hate to do this, but you both know the rule. No fires in the house. You’re both grounded for the next week.”

There’s a collective groan. Taeil raises his hand.

“Chenle, I would like you to weave something to cover the wall.” 

His eyes widen at the size of the spot. “But—”

“No buts.” Taeil crosses his arm. “If you need any materials feel free to ask, but this will be _your_ responsibility. Do you understand?”

Chenle nods.

“Yangyang, I’d like you to replace this shelf. Can you do that?”

Yangyang opens his mouth to protest, but Taeil holds up a finger to silence him. “You may ask for help, but as soon as I suspect you are sweet-talking Kun into doing it for you I _will_ make you start over. Understood?”

He nods as well, staring at the floor. Taeil feels a pang of guilt, which is a dangerous thing to have when your sons are masters at emotional manipulation.

“Go to your rooms,” he says. “I’ll call you down for dinner. Reflect on what you’ve done.”

The boys trudge up the stairs and Taeil hears a huff from behind him. He turns to see Whiplash pushing its snout through the shutters.

“I suppose I have to punish you, too,” he sighs. “Fine. No smoked fish for a week.”

Whiplash lets out a sad huff.

“Glad we understand each other. Now go.”

Whiplash turns back into the fields to terrorize the sheep. Taeil stares at the burnt wall, coughing through the thick stench of wood smoke. There goes a perfectly good wall.

…

“I haven't seen Yangyang and Chenle lately,” Kun says when he sees him at the market later that week. 

“They're both grounded,” Taeil says, handing a lady a jar of pain medication. “They almost burnt a hole in the wall.”

Kun frowns. “Do you need me to look at it?”

“I think it's fine,” Taeil says, writing something down. “It's mostly just ugly to look at. Chenle is weaving something to cover it, and Yangyang is building a shelf to replace the one that perished in the fire.”

“I’m curious to see what he comes up with,” Kun says, leaning on the market stall. “How are you doing?”

“Busy. You?”

“Same here.” Kun digs his finger into the wood, suddenly hesitating. “Say, Taeil, would you like to….um...would you want to…”

Taeil leans forward slightly. Kun’s face is turning a soft shade of pink as he struggles with the words.

“Yes?” Taeil prompts, barely breathing. “What is it?”

Kun opens his mouth but someone else's voice rings through the market, young and panicked. 

“Dad!” Yangyang yells, pushing through the crowd. “Dad!”

Taeil turns, the tension breaking like a cobweb. “What is it?” he asks, grabbing Yangyang by the shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Chenle’s hurt!” Yangyang blubbers. “He fell!”

Taeil almost knocks Kun over as he pushes past him. “What happened? Where is he?”

“We snuck out to the Bluffs and he fell off Whiplash’s back,” Yangyang blubbers. “He’s still there with the others.”

Taeil grabs several things off the stall, hurriedly wrapping them in the large cloth draped over the table. “Where is he hurt?”

“His leg!”

“Go back and tell them I’m on my way,” Taeil says hurriedly. “Go!”

Yangyang races back the way he came, and moments later comes the leathery beat of wings along the grass. Taeil slings his bag around his shoulders and looks at Kun. “Are you coming?”

Kun stares at him, mouth open. “I—I’ve never—”

“Ridden a dragon?” Taeil grabs his hand, pulling him until they are both running down the road back to his house, out of breath. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

To be quite honest, Taeil can’t remember the last time he flew. It’s been years at best: his dragon, a Deadly Nadder quite affectionately nicknamed Prickly, has been languishing in the field behind his home for years. She does little else than make sure the sheep don’t fall off the cliffs into the sea.

“Prickly!” Taeil calls out, dragging Kun through the grass. “Wanna go out for a ride?”

The dragon raises her head and blinks open one great, yellow eye. Her spikes are jewel-toned, blue-green and purple, and the afternoon light dances off her spikes like the finest of gems. He pats her nose and she lets out a low rumble, stretching like a cat. 

“You’ll have to hold on to me,” Taeil says, slinging a saddle over Prickly’s spiny back. “It's not that far to the Bluffs, and then—”

“No,” Kun says. “You don’t understand! I _can’t_ fly.”

Taeil stops, hands stilling. “What’s wrong?”

Kun wrings his hands together. “I’m...I’m scared of heights, Taeil. I’ve tried, but…” He looks at the ground, eyes glued to the gently swaying grass. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Taeil asks gently, climbing onto Prickly’s back. She spreads her wings, digging her claws into the grass. It makes sense, now—why Kun lives so close to the sea. Why he never strays too far from the center of town. He can’t stand to look over the cliffs. He can’t stand to be so far above the sea.

Kun’s eyes are sad. “You’ll be much more help than I will,” he says. “Go.”

Taeil turns, and as he takes off into the sky he can see Kun waving, one tiny speck in the distance.

…

The Bluffs aren’t that far from the village, but they’re only accessible from the sky. Stone pillars jut out of the sea and plateau, creating a wide, flat circle of red-brown rock. It's the perfect place for a group of young boys to get up to unspeakable mischief.

Or, in Chenle’s case, break a leg.

“It's not that bad!” Chenle says as Taeil bandages his leg against a wooden rod to set it. “I didn’t even fall that far!”

“And how far is that?” Taeil asks, raising an eyebrow. Yanyang stands off to the side, along with several other familiar faces: Jaemin, from down the road. Jeno, the mayor’s son. Jisung, the painter's son. Concern glimmers in their wide eyes

“Not far!”

“It was at least ten feet,” Jisung says, crossing his arms. “He’s lying.”

“Shut up,” Chenle mumbles. Taeil finishes with his leg and stands, reaching out to help him up. 

“You should be glad you didn’t fall straight into the sea, Taeil says. Yangyang rushes forward to steady Chenle, who wobbles unevenly on his other leg. “Yangyang, you take him back. The rest of you should head home as well, before it gets dark.”

There’s a chorus of mumbling chorus of _yes, sir_ as the boys turn away. Taeil can’t help but feel a little soft spot for all of them, explorers and adventurers waiting to go wherever the world takes them.

The boys take off, a sea of scales and wings, and Taeil is left alone on the Bluffs. He looks over the edge at the frothing water below, the edge of the sea against the surrounding rocks. It’s a beautiful view—sunlit and rolling, always in motion. A sudden pang of loneliness hits him, as solid as the sea, so tangible he feels as if he could take it into his hands and feel it flutter like a bird.

“Let’s go,” Taeil tells Prickly, patting her nose. She huffs in agreement.

…

Taeil’s official instructions for Chenle are bed rest, plenty of good food and absolutely no dragon riding until his leg is fully healed. This last instruction is met with some resistance, and Taeil walks into Chenle room several times to find him cradling Whiplash’s second head and cooing at it sadly. Even a second floor window can't stop something with wings. They are grounded for an additional week.

Kun doesn’t say much. He fashions Chenle a set of crutches from wood for him to use as his leg begins to heal and leaves it on their doorstep wrapped in burlap and twine. When Taeil sees him in town he’s always heading in the opposite direction, almost as if he’s running away. A small part of Taeil aches, a twinge of pain somewhere in his chest that he cannot describe.

“Kun hasn’t stopped by recently,” Yangyang says one evening at dinner. “Is he okay?”

Chenle looks down at his bowl of soup, trying to hide his curious squint behind a cloud of steam. 

“He’s just busy.”

“You should go see him,” Chenle says, waving his spoon. “Just to check on him.”

“Do you two miss him that much?” Taeil says. 

Yangyang and Chenle exchange a Look, indecipherable. Taeil frowns slightly.

“Don’t you?” they ask in unison.

…

It's late when Taeil finally creeps out of the house, careful not to wake the boys sleeping upstairs. He goes to the field and rubs Prickly’s back, right in the one spot where he spines don’t cover her scales. She yawns.

“Come on girl,” Taeil whispers, setting his lantern down. “Lets go visit a friend.”

…

A fire is burning somewhere in Kun’s house by the sea, yellow light bleeding out of the windows and into the surrounding shadow. Taeil leads Prickly down the cliffs and onto the damp, stony ground, the air cold.

He knocks on Kun’s door. Once. Twice. 

“Taeil?” Kun opens the door, and it's obvious that he’s wide awake, even at this late hour. “What are you doing here?”

“Why haven't you been talking to me?” Taeil asks, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders. “Are you upset at me?”

Kun shakes his head “You’re going to catch a cold—”

“I want to show you something,” Taeil says. “Will you let me?”

Kun’s eyes reflect the moon and the stars and everything in between. “Taeil—”

Prickly noses at Kun’s stomach, rumbling. He reaches out, reverently, to place a hand on her snout. 

“Will you let me?” Taeil asks again, heart thumping against his throat. He’s afraid that if he says anything else it will leap right out of his mouth and hit the ground, exposed for all the world to see.

Kun reaches out, this time for Taeil. He places a hand on his cheek, softly, fingers rough from years of work and skill. “Let me grab my coat.”

…

“Just to the Bluffs and back,” Taeil says. He grabs Kun’s hand and places it between the spikes on Prickly’s back. “You don’t have to look.”

“I don’t think I can do it,” Kun says. “What if I fall? What if _you_ fall, or if there’s a storm, or—”

“I’ll be right here,” Taeil says calmly. It is cold out tonight, and the chill is finally beginning to seep into his skin. He pulls himself into the saddle and reaches down to Kun. “Trust me.”

For a moment, Taeil thinks Kun is going to turn away and back to the night and the sea, his safe house at the shore. For a moment, he thinks that Kun will smile and say he never wants to see him again.

Instead, Kun takes his hand and lets him pull him up. Prickly flares her spines, stretching.

“Are you okay?” Taeil asks over his shoulder. Kun nods, wordless, and wraps his arms around Taeil’s waist. Warmth blooms under his skin, searing hot in the cold night.

Taeil puts Prickly’s side and she rises up onto her back legs, flapping her wings against the ground. Taeil can hear the wind trapped beneath the flaps, can see the grass and rocks beneath them shift under her weight and the weight of the wind. He squints, relying on the light of the full moon to see. His eyes water as they finally lift off the ground, the earth slowly moving away.

“How do you feel?” Taeil asks, snapping the reins. Prickly turns towards the ocean and sets off like an arrow, low to the water.

Kun squeezes him tighter and buries his face into his shoulder. “We’re so high up,” he yells, the tremble in his voice almost lost to the roaring wind.

“Low, girl,” Taeil says soothingly, and Prickly taps the water with her tail. Water mists around them, tiny shards of ice in the air. Kun blinks one eye open and yelps, clinging to Taeil’s coat.

“Aren’t we going rather fast?” Kun says, looking down at the water. 

“No, this is a good speed,” Taeil nudges Prickly higher into the sky. “Look up, not down. It helps.”

Kun shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m good, thanks.”

He can see the Bluffs in the near distance, stretching up towards the moon. He circles the stone pillars a couple times, spiraling upwards towards the clouds. He can feel Kun’s cheek pressed against his back, hands clenching and unclenching around his stomach.

He doesn’t realize it, but he’s counting. He’s counting every star he can see, trying to commit all of them to memory.

“You know,” Taeil whispers when they cut through the clouds and all is silent on the other side. “If you make a wish and count the stars, it’ll come true.”

Kun grumbles against his back but blinks open an eye. He looks up, and lets out a small gasp as he takes in the full moon, the tiny diamond stars. Taeil looks over his shoulder and almost loses his breath when he sees how wide Kun’s eyes are, every nighttime cloud and comet reflected in his pupils.

“Make a wish,” Taeil murmurs as Kun presses his hands flat against his stomach. 

“I wish,” Kun starts, voice so low it could fall into the sea, “that we could always be this close.”

He can hear Kun counting underneath his breath, eyes glued to the sky. Taeil counts too, in his heart. One star. 100 more.

“You don’t have to wish,” Taeil finally says. “You could just ask.”

Kun presses a kiss to his cheek, warm in the night air. Prickly spirals higher and then turns to glide back to the village, wings beating against the current. 

“I love you,” Taeil says, leaning into Kun’s touch. 

Silence. The village comes back into view, the tiny lights in the distance like an inversion of the stars.

Kun smiles. “I know.”

…

They land too quickly, it seems. Prickly settles on the shore and Taeil helps Kun down, locking their fingers together as they make the small walk back to his house. It's colder down here, somehow. Without Kun’s arms around him, it's colder.

He kisses Kun in his doorway, cupping his face in his hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmurs against Kun’s mouth, smiling.

“See you then,” Kun responds, pulling him closer. Prickly huffs behind them, pressing her nose into Taeil’s back. She almost knocks both of them over and Kun laughs, smile bright.

Taeil clambers up the uneven rocks and away from the sea. _See you then._

…

When Taeil gets home he hears a series of small, hushed whispers coming from the stairway. He peers into the darkness and hears two sets of feet hurry up the stairs, one even and one hobbling. Someone giggles quietly. He smiles to himself. Boys.

...

“Okay,” Chenle says, holding a rolled up bundle of fabric under his arm. His leg is almost healed after several weeks but he still walks unevenly, crutch propped under one arm. “Nobody insult me.”

“We won’t,” Taeil promises. “Show us what you made.”

Chenle unfurls the fabric to reveal a woven nighttime scene, the sky and land created using dyed thread. It's messy but somehow heartwarming in its simplicity: woven sky. Woven stars. Woven sea. Taeil adores it immediately.

“What do you think?” Chenle asks proudly. Taeil eases it from his hands and pins it to the wall over the burnt mark, pleasantly surprised to find it drape over the entire wall. It sits quite nicely over Yangyang’s uneven shelf.

“It's lovely,” Kun says, smiling. “But who’s that?”

Two sloppily woven figures stick out among the stars, nestled on the back of a blue-green dragon. Chenle looks at Yangyang with raised eyebrows, the both of them exchanging an entire wordless conversation in a matter of moments.

“No one in particular,” he says, sitting at the table across from Kun. Yangyang grins at them like a little devil. Outside the window, Whiplash is peering at them with big yellow eyes, always curious about what's inside. Prickly is in the fields somewhere, napping.

Taeil takes Kun’s hand, smiling, the wooden ring on his left hand scraping his palm. For the first time, there is a fourth bowl set at the table.


End file.
